The Orphan
by Protege
Summary: You and my muse were so kind to give me the strengh to write the 5th chapter. R&R as always.
1. Little Girl

Well, as I've already mentioned, I don't know actually how far my muse is going to take me, but this is going to be fun. You guys know my disclaimer, but only for Thomas Harris's characters. Other characters are supposed to be mine.  
  
A/N: as always I am going to include some songs. Forgive me for that. Your reviews are always appreciated, welcomed etc.  
  
Have fun!  
  
The Orphan.  
  
Chapter 1. Little girl.  
  
Her fingers seemed to live their own life. They still didn't want to obey her commands. No concentration at all. She was practicing scales for an hour, but with no visible result. However 'visible' wasn't quite the right word. Should she say 'hearable'?  
  
And there was another refined torture waiting for her. Mozart. She hated Mozart. He was too light, bravura, frivolous for her. She couldn't take it. But her teacher said she was to play Rondo from the Second Vienne Sonatina. A great deal of work waiting under the seemingly easy music.  
  
As much as she hated Mozart she loved Beethoven. But this kind of music was too complicated for her skills. She knew playing the piano was just a part of her education programme, not the main subect, not the purpose. It was only means to become a nice lady in a rude world outside.  
  
It was not XIX century. We are no more white trash or niggers or slaves or owners. We have the Law which is equally merciless to everyone.  
  
Concentrate, little girl. You sure don't want to see how angry Mrs. Peters can be.  
  
"Miss Starling!"  
  
No, not again. Don't shout, I hate shouting, I hate loud voices, stop, please, STOP!  
  
"Miss Starling! I! Expect! You! Listen! To! ME!"  
  
What have I done?  
  
"Miss Starling! Stand up!"  
  
The law is equally merciless for everyone. And a white trash is going to get some rod today. Spare a rod and spoil a child. That was surely Mrs. Peters' motto.  
  
She is taking the rod. Although the rest of the world is living in XX century, we still are in XIXth. And noone from the rest of the world know about us. Poor little orphans. Girls without parents. Some of the girls actually had them, but they were too drunk to see the social institution stealing their children.  
  
To be or not to be? Not to be. Not to be Clarice Starling anymore. Not to be a girl which earned the respect of the teachers by being clever and obedient. Not to be Clarice Starling who can't remember her own mother. Not to be Clarice Starling whose father's dead. Not to be Clarice Starling who failed to protect poor lambs from slaughtering. Not to be...  
  
"Please, Doctor, I only want you to talk with her. Poor little creature. She was one of our best inmates until the incident. We don't know whether she's still normal. She's been with us only for two years – maybe she still can't cope with her past. With all the pain she has in her heart."  
  
"Please, darling, do it for me. You know, I do care for those poor orphans." Woman's voice. Quite nice, though unpleasantly capricious notes in her voce visibly waited for an hour to appear on stage. "I'm staying here for three days, I have some business, you know." Noone actually knew and didn't want to know what the business was, but as she was giving the large sum of money for charity, the headmaster listened quietly, with the most pleasant smile she could give out. The man was watching both women and somewhere in the corner of his beautifully shaped mouth a Cheshire smile was hiding. The 'business' lady was his... emm... companion at the moment. A woman to satisfy his animal needs. Beautiful, indeed. Looks after herself. Not too young and not too old. And – not too boring. But all these 'charity' needs was only a debt to her own childhood – and he was first to hear that from this strong woman. Another orphan like me, he thought then. And here and now he's being asked to help another orphan. Not a woman, though. A girl.  
  
"As much as I wish to help you, I must refuse," he said. "I've never worked wih children."  
  
"I don't know what words to use to make you..." The woman stopped herself in the middle of the sentence. "It's no use. No use to telling you she needs help."  
  
"What's her name again? And what has she done that you keep her closed?"  
  
"She bit her music teacher."  
  
Now that was interesting.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We don't know. Mrs. Peters said she refused to play. When she started to shout at her, the girl'd gone mad and bit her arm."  
  
"Well, darling, what do you want me to do? Convince this girl not to bite her enemies?"  
  
"I'd love you to do something to please me. Not for money or for your amusement."  
  
This woman knew him well. At least that part of him which he was exposing to public.  
  
"All right, But only under one condition. We must be alone. No other visitors, no 'guards'. Just her and me.  
  
"I'll give you the case file..." the headmaster hurried.  
  
"You don't need to do this. She will tell me everything herself."  
  
Now, folks, I promise we'll follow games here.  
  
Always yours,  
  
Protégé. 


	2. The Cat

Good life to everyone! Glad to meet with you after all the troubles which happened to me! First, I had to do a lot of beta-reading /sad grin/. It's a terrible work, really. Second, I tried the thing they call 'family life'. Emm, don't try to repeat it without instructor /grin/. All this time I had absolutely no strength to write something, although I was full of ideas. But until now I can't promise good or bad end, 'cause I still don't know where this is going to go. Lots of thanx for those, who reviewed, don't forget about me, will you?

Chapter 2. The Cat.

Knock-knock. Who might it be? Is it dinner-time already?

No, it's not. What is our headmaster doing here? Had she come here for apologies? Am I here for forgiveness? Hey, I'm not insane, you are not supposed to stare at me like that, horror mixed with pity in your eyes. What are you up to?

"Clarice, I want you to meet someone."

Great, it's the witch hunt and these 'someone' are supposed to be my executoners. What age is it now? Certainly not XXth. Heh, what will be, will be.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Starling."

Soft, metallic male voice. Look at him, Clarice, don't stare at the window, it won't give you answers. Look at him.

He is handsome. Beautiful, mid-aged. Thin face features and pale skin gave away the aristocratic breed. So did his hands, slim, seemingly weak fingers. Not an executioner. At least not the one working with an axe. Thank you, headmaster. I wonder how he would look with moustache. Would the producer pick him for the role of Rett Butler? Ha-ha, don't even think of that, it seems he can read your thoughts just looking at you. Looking with his deep maroon eyes, glittering like the just sharpened butcher-knife. He IS working with cold weapons, not axes, but knives. He will take his secret kit, dissect you to look what's inside, explore you and then eat you for dinner.

Say something. They are waiting. You are showing your rudeness. Or your mental state, which differs from normal greatly. Say something, don't let those eyes savout you, suck out your soul.

"Oh, I'm sorry. How could I ever been so rude and not introduce myself! My name is Hannibal Lecter, I am Doctor of Medicine."

"Are you going to cure my psyche?" Oops. I'm rude again. Why did I say that? Why do I want to protect myself by all the means I have?

"Clarice!" Headmaster. Will she ever shut up? Will they all shut up? Will they ever learn to speak quiet? Not to scream? I hear enough screaming at nights..."

"Mrs. Lee, I am ought to ask you to leave us alone." Now his voice wasn't soft. It was a command, dare someone trying not to obey it.

And she obeyed, without any questions, saying only: "I'll see you both soon." She shut the door quietly, but Clarice's sensitive ears heard the noise – and it instantly echoed in every part of her body, causing physical pain.

And there was still him to cope with. To prove him she doesn't need any help. Noone could help her. Not a man, though she hadn't seen help from God too. Only tortures.

He was standing idly, staring at her, awaiting for her allowance to sit. She tried to speak, but ner tongue didn't seem to obey her. She nodded her head to the chair near the window at looked at him pleadingly. His smile slightly widened, thought his eyes remained serious.

She exhaled when he sat down. Now she was feeling much better. What are you thinking of yourself, little girl? That he is going to do something with you? Relax, everything's ok, just relax.

He gestures her to sit on the sofa. Instead of this she came closer and sat on the floor, close enough to touch him by exposed hand. A strange feelinng of comfort rushed through her veins. He is supposed to be your enemy, girl. Don't give up.

Soon she understood he wasn't willing to break eye contact. It was somehow very soothing. Se never felt so good in such a long period of two years. He seemed to read this in her eyes and grinned. Hmm, strange, who he reminds me? A cat? Not just any cat, but The Cat. Cheshire Cat. 'Better for me, I've never liked dogs,' she thought.

He smiled softly at the thought. Oh no, she thought, he reads me like another belle-lettres.

So what? Is that a problem? He is supposed to be your psyche-doctor. Good Doctor. If he comes next time, she will speak to him. But not today. Her head is filled with pain.

"May I?" He asked quietly. What did I miss, Clarice asked yourself, feeling his arms around her neck, her head on his lap, his fingers searching for something and finding right spots to massage. "It's Chinese medicine. Won't do you any harm." While feeling his fingers massaging her neck she got relaxed, pain went away. 'Don't tell me I only needed the right physician,' she thought.

"No, it's not that easy, Clarice." Surprisingly she liked the way he rolled her name on his tongue. "May I call you Clarice?" She nodded. He stopped massaging her and that moment she realised she didn't want to take her head off his lap. This WAS rude. Obviously unwilling movement of his lap after several minutes told her she must let him go.

He stood up, looking at his watch. "I should go now, Clarice."

"Will you come again?" she surprised herself, but not him. He seemed to be expecting her reaction. Damn you, little girl, he plays with you. He is able to predict your every word, her every movement, even her every thought. What are you going to do with this? Tell him about your nightmares? Let him sit near your bed when you sleep. Read a bedtime story, give a good-night kiss, hold your hand when you are waking up at night, all cold and sweaty...

"Only if you promise me to be courteous and at least say "Good afternoon, Doctor Lecter." Will you promise?"

She nodded again, feeling weak to say something. "You don't need to worry about the reaction of your body to the massage. As your doctor I strongly advise you to have a rest, even sleep for several hours. Expect me the same time tomorrow." Suddenly he smiled and winked. "Ta-ta."

She couldn't utter a word. Wait till he shows you his butcher-knife, she thought. Inpredictable, like a cat. Be careful with him, little girl. But she couldn't resist to do the thing she did only seldom – she smiled back.

How was that? Expecting the next chapter? Hmmmm.......... What can I give away? Well, the next chapter is going to be about the same events – but from His side. Wanna know how He feels? Review! And if you're not forgetting me, next chapter will come during three days /sadistic smile/.


	3. and the Cub

Hi again! Thanx for the reviews. Just a little announcement, before we proceed. As I know, Russian fans of Dr.Lecter are starving in need of good sitesficsinformationHopkins pages... I can't do everything, but I sure can translate my posted fics to Russian, special thanks for Enchantress – my beta-reader, who's helping me with this work. If anyone is interested in fics' whereabouts, contact me.

As I've promised, chapter three is chapter two from the different POV. Hope you enjoy it /grin/.

Chapter 3. ...and the Cub.

Why has he agreed to such a stupidity? Because of the woman? Or because of the little orphan, who used her only weapon to protect herself from a bitter world? And a bitter word. Hmm, no, it isn't.

When he heard about biting element he thought it would be much fun. Fun to see a girl, who fought rudeness with its own weapon. Fun to teach her how to hide her emotions. How to punish her enemies and escape. Teach her the knowlegde he had – knowledge that his little sister hadn't acqiured. Before it was too late.

The headmaster wasn't actually a woman of sadistic inclinations, but it was seen instantly the orphanage was more like nunnery – with its simple interior, quiet girls wearing dark uniform, and its own means of punishment, of course. Rods? Quite possible. He felt the need to ask Clarice about it.

Clarice... What a beautiful name, how slowly, lazily it rolled over his tongue! How quickly he forgot to call her Ms. Starling, even in mind! What did he expect to see? Mischa?

"This way, please", the headmaster showed him to the corridor which wasn't so often used. What did they say about punishment? Incarceration? Please, don't let the room be cold...

She unlocked the door with one of her keys in the keyset and they stepped into the room. Not cold. Light. Bed, books, a piano, an eating table. And no possibilities to go outside. How does a little bird feel in the cage she so willingly accepted? Moreover, did everything to get inside?

And a girl – standind in the corner, looking at the headmaster with indifference. Soon it will be replaced by annoyance – if the woman is going to tell her who I am, he thought. Twelve years old? Nah, she looked older. When she is fifteen, boys are going to find her. If she ever gets outside this building, she will immediately be invited and raped in american way – in the car, standing on the parking lot near the sightseeing place. What a pity! She will be beautiful, even extremely beautiful when she grows up. The colour of her hair was that one he had neves seen – sun kissed auburn, incredible, magnificent shade. What if she avoids wearing ponytails? Well, it's all about this nunnery, he thought. Explicted rules of the institution.

"Clarice, I want you to meet someone," said the headmaster. Mmm, silly woman, this name should be pronounced another way, more kindly – then it will reveal its magnificence. Unfortuantely, he can't do it now.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Starling," he said instead.

And she looked at him. At that very moment he understood he wold be forever incarcerated with the look of these eyes. Suddenly he remembered one of his favourite books written by Dostoyevsky – "Idiot", the place, where Myshkin says to the woman: "You've suffered a lot." By saying that he showed her that her soul is much more important and beautiful than her body. Now it's the same. Her eyes showed him to the heights of suffer impossible for a man to survive – and he surrendered. Because what he saw in those pale blue eyes was a six year old boy, seeing the soldiers killing his siter, hearing the "chomp" of an axe...

And suddenly the impression was gone. Because the expression of her face slightly changed – and then he saw interest mixed with fear. It was very slippery of her. Should she read Nabokov's "Lolita" to stay away from such situations? Certailny it was an object to discuss.

'Say something, little creature, are you afraid of me?' And then he remembered – she can't. Before he introduces himself she can't utter a word. Until she is sixteen. Ahh.. courteousy... very good.

"Oh, I'm sorry. How could I ever been so rude and not introduce myself! My name is Hannibal Lecter, I am Doctor of Medicine." Now she will say something. At least he expected her to do so.

"Are you going to cure my psyche?" Now this was not the thing he expected. Whas was her voice again? Couldn't he remember? No? No, it's just little Mischa's voice, her deep maroon eyes looking at him, her small mouth forming the words: "Are you going to cure my psyche?"

"Clarice!" the voice of the headmaster returned him to reality. Clarice, not Mischa. But her face muscles suddenly got tensed in the way Hannibal could say she's suffering from a terrible headache caused by a lack of sleep.

Silly woman. She's causing the problem. How am I ought to speak with a girl, whose mind is transforming every uttered vowel into a great amount of pain?

"Mrs. Lee, I am ought to ask you to leave us alone." He said. Before she spoils the situation. Hearing the tone of his voice she obeyed immediately, saying only: "I'll see you both soon." She closed the door. Good. Let's start working.

Which means - let's study her only by her body language and a look in her eyes. He felt the pleasure when reinstalling their eye contact, like diving into a cool water during the hot day. And he didn't like what he saw. She's not afraid of him, but she counts him as an enemy. Another one to prove she doesn't need any help. Little girl, you'd better not do that. Soon you realise that being alone is more painful than trust someone and fall.

Now she tries to speak, but her tongue is not listening, her body is protecting itself from pain. She nodded me to sit. Aha, good, she IS courteous. He sat on the chair near the window and smiled. She exhaled with relief. Better. Now to get her relaxed.

He gestures her to sit on the sofa. Instead of this she came closer and sat on the floor, close enough to touch him by exposed hand. Tries to tell him he is superior. He knew that already, but he was pleased by her efforts to show him he is no longer an enemy. That he has a chance to become her friend. Maybe her only friend.

And ONLY friend. Those eyes of grown-up woman and a body of a teen. Don't forget about her age, don't let those eyes disguise you. Platonic love with her soul? Might be possible, but is not likely. He couldn't influense her that much.

And she really got relaxed. Even tried to compare him with something she knows very well. He grinned. Might it be the cat, Clarice? Might it be even Cheshire Cat? Too dangerous for you, my sweet, caged little bird. What could happen if you mistook?

"May I?" he asked. He knew that with this pain they won't go anywhere. So he decided to be her physician today. Gently massaging her neck, finding the right spots he fought for control. She's a girl, he thought. Will you wait for six year? "It's Chinese medicine. Won't do you any harm," he calmed her down. And then he felt her thinking: 'don't tell me I only needed a physician'.

"No, it's not that easy, Clarice." No! He mustn't have done this – but he did. No more Ms. Starlings, he thought as he felt a slight wave of pleasure hearing her name on his lips. "May I call you Clarice?" he asked only to verify if that' all right. Just a formality, another sign of courtesy. She nodded. Very good.

Now the pain must nave got away. He stopped massaging her neck but she didn't let his lap go. Let her do what she wants, he told himself. Perhaps she had never seen her father. Perhaps she had never seen the man who is kind to her. Perhaps I myself don't want to let her go... No, that's not right.

She rose, feeling his slight attempts to remind them who they are, looking in his eyes, searching for angriness, or annoyance, or even embarrasment. Finding none of them she slightly shoke with relief.

He stood up, looking at his watch. "I should go now, Clarice."

"Will you come again?" Oh! She was afraid to lose him! So quickly... he felt the strong need to become a mentor for this girl. Under the cover she was so helpless, so weak. And she understood it perfectly. 'Let's not disappoint her, shall we?' he thought. Let's not see her suffer, let's not leave her here helpless only to face the fate of Mischa.

He decided to tease her a bit: "Only if you promise me to be courteous and at least say "Good afternoon, Doctor Lecter." Will you promise?"

She nodded again, obviously feeling weak to say something. "You don't need to worry about the reaction of your body to the massage. As your doctor I strongly advise you to have a rest, even sleep for several hours. Expect me the same time tomorrow," he said. Will she take his prescriptions? Perhaps – if he promised her to return more effectively. He smiled and winked. "Ta-ta."

She, again, was silent – only smiled in return. And that smile shone on her face, brighter than the sun through the window...

He closed the door. Why did he agree to this anyway? Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?

A/N: It will remain PG-13, so don't expect me do something incredible /sadistic grin/. All I can do is get on your nerves with the plot. What next? Review – and you'll know soon enough /another sadistic grin/.


	4. Clarice

Well, I'm back, but I am really disappointed. Where the hell is my feedback, um? You perfectly know how I love you, guys, and how you inspire me. So...

Chapter 4. Clarice.

Same shit – another day. Clarice woke up in the dark, sweaty. Those nightmares were haunting her again and again...

She didn't feel like sleeping anymore. Perfectly knowing it won't do any good to her health she still tried to occupate her mind with some good thoughts and rememberings. But it was no use. The thought of her father made her cry at once.

Then she thought about the events of the previous day and at instant became shy of her tears. There was the man whom she was able to trust. Who was – or Clarice hoped so – incapable of betraying. Who was to keep her secrets. Good Doctor.

She turned on the light and took several books from the shelf. One of them was "The Old Man and The Sea". Clarice didn't know why she liked this book so much, but sometimes it was the only book to bring her a good night sleep. The sea...

I am a girl of West Virginia, she thought. Why do I have a strong will to be near the sea, to feel the caressing breeze over my cheeks, to smell the salty air? To stare at the horizon.

Because sometimes we do not belong to where we are, she thought. Where do I belong to? The sea?

The Loneliness. I belong to the Loneliness.

The sudden thought made her freeze. I will never belong to this world, it tore me apart, now I will never put the jigsaw pieces of my life into their proper place.

Maybe Good Doctor would be able to do it?

Clarice no longer wanted to read. Neither to sleep. She got up and came to the piano. It stood quietly – wooden, black, polished piece of furniture, sorry for her, sorry its silent twin became the reason for her imprisonment.

She closed the window. Noone should hear the sound of the music I could decide to play, she thought. I could never become friends with Mozart.

She knew she couldn't become a great pianist, because she began playing too late. All the storiesh she read about the great musicians started with: "he/she began playing at five or six". She was ten and a half. What she could possibly achieve in music?

But she wanted to be friends with the piano. Music gave her an unspeakable feeling of belonging. Could the Loneliness have possibly found its shelter in the sounds of the Music?

The piano remained silent. Clarice couldn't make herself unite her soul with the sounds. Not tonight.

She shared her breakfast with the Headmaster, who was unusually silent. When Clarice asked about the Good Doctor, the woman replied:

"He's gone. Neither of us know where he is, not even miss L., his companion."

"Companion?" ah, yes, of course, how could such a man do without women? Second thouhg which came into her mind was:'You, stupid girl, don't tell me you're jealous.'

"I forgot to tell you yesterday, that we have a very important guest. Miss. L. is an old friend of our orphanage and dispatch reasonable amounts of money to charity. When she was here last time – about three years ago – you weren't with us.

Great. And isn't Good Doctor a part of her charity? To cure an insane girl?

I don't want to be an object of charity, she thought. I know, I can't, but I can manage to lessen an amount of charity given to me. No, Good Doctor, I don't want to see you anymore.

"Are you feeling better today?" asked the headmaster noticing her pale complexion.

"No, not really," said Clarice, glad she found the reason to refuse seeing the Good Doctor. If he comes back. "I had a sleepless night, so I'd rather be alone today and try to get some sleep."

"All right. If you need something, just call."

They finished their breakfast in silence.

Hannibal Lecter was driving back to the orphanage in his luxurious Jaguar. He woke up early in the morning, leaving his companion lying on a huge double bed. She never woke up – his abilities not to make much noise grew with years of practice.

He needed to purchase some items for work. If he is to cure this girl, then he is to explain her she could cope up with her hate to the teacher for the sake of music. He went to the bookshop to find notes. Mozart will do, he thought. At least for the first time, to make her feel... content? Happy?

Doesn't he know what really makes her happy?

She is NOT Mischa, don't forget, she isn't.

She is just an orphan, who probably is in a great need of family.

But why couldn't she control her feelings?

Brave Clarice. She showed her feelings for the world with so much honesty. Her honesty could be the key to her soul. She woud tell him today why did she bit her music teacher. Imagine Mischa biting her enemies, drawing blood, imagine their eyes filled with panic, imagine her alive...

I will do it, Mischa, he thought. This girl did the thing I couldn't make myself to do without any special skills, any preparations. She used the only right weapon which could be chosen.

It was one p.m. when he came back. His companion greeted him with a curious look. Hannibal opened one of the packages and took a nice bottle of Amaroni. She clapped her hands like a little girl who is given an unexpected present.

"I want to see the girl after lunch."

"Darling, it's impossible. They say she feels unwell."

What did they do to her again?

"Have they explained what's wrong?"

"No, they didn't say any particular, just that she's unable to receive visitors."

Did it really matter what they say? After yesterday he couldn't imagine her refusing to see him. Hannibal decided he will find the way to see the girl. No matter what it cost him.

"... people will say we're in love..."

If I don't get feedback, I won't post a new chapter. Just because I want to know whether I've done something wrong. I know, this is blackmail, but I need you, my dear readers. Protégé.


	5. The Cake and the piano part 1

Hallo, everybody! Thanks for all the nice reviews you took the time to write me! Here I come with the new chapter, again from Clarice's POW. Dear FantaC! Clarice is 12 and a half at least! I looked closer at the 1st chapter and found that the Headmaster mentioned Clarice had been staying in the orphanage for two years before the events. If I did something wrong somewhere else (and that could possibly be...) – do tell me and I'll edit the chapter!

Wanna get as many reviews next time...! (And who's the blackmailer? /devilish grin/).

Chapter 5. The Piano.

I could actually run away from the window.

It was the first thought that came into her mind when the headmaster closed the door. Nobody closed the window. And this is the ground floor. Piece of cake.

But!... It would be against the rules.

Clarice suddenly remembered her father. She was six years old. They were eating breakfast, and Clarice suddenly asked:

"Daddy, why do you work at nights?"

"Because bad guys are always awake at nights," he explained.

"And who are those bad guys? Why can't everyone be good?"

"Because bad guys don't want to obey the rules, my sweety.."

Clarice blinked. What happened to her at that terrible moment? Why did she bit her teacher? It was certainly against the rules. It is easier to escape...

No, never would she do such a thing again. The moment her father was lying in the coffin she swore she would serve the law as he did. She was born to fight crime. To protect innocent people. Not to let the bad guys kill someone else's fathers...

And she won't break the rules for the good guys. If they placed her here for punishment, so let it be. Let it be, let it be, whisper words of wisdom, let it be...

Knock-knock. Someone's knocking on the door. No, not the door, the window! Didn't she tell ebryone clearly enough she's not in the mood? Knock-knock again. O'K, she thought. I'll just look – and then ask them to leave.

But when she looked through the window she couldn't hold a laugh. It was really funny to see gracious Good Doctor balansing on one foot, standing on the trash bin, one hand was free to knock again, the other one was holding huge amount of papers, and the rope which was only a bit longer than the carton box it was winding? Was being held by his litle white teeth. That was a rare entertainment for Clarice. She couldn't help to give another laugh when she saw his face becoming extremely serious. She opened a case-window.

"Hello, Doctor! Whatcha doing down there?"

Another ten seconds passed as he took the carton box in another hand and tried to make a bow.

"You see, Clarice, when I was going to pay you a visit, I was told you're in bed, feeling unwell. So what could a doctor possibly do in such a situation?"

"Anything but that," oops, why can't I hold my tongue, she thought.

But he remained calm. "Well, young lady, I am starting to think that you're showing your discourtesy while not letting me in."

Will I let him in? What is he doing here?

Okay, I'll let him in, she thought. But only to say I'm in no need of his services. After all he hasn't done anything wrong to me. He's just a doctor.

No, he's not. He's a Doctor.

"And, please, be quiet," he asked. "You do understand what could happen if we're caught."

I do understand, Doc. Let me do my job.

She opened the huge window – with a visible effort, trying to avoid sounds. He passed the the box – and then appeared in the room quite in a cattish way. If I were a cat, she thought... then why would I need rules? And he obviously finds pleasure in breaking them. Thanks God, he's only a Doctor, not a criminal. It wont be easy to catch such a man, who can pretend to be a cat while being a lion.

"I've brought a cake, but I haven't expected the situation as this one. It seems we are not going to have tea."

"Yup," say something, Clarice, say something, don't stare at him like that. Don't forget you are strong. You don't need him doing a charity. "Have a sit, Doctor."

"Thank you," he was still serious.

"Unfortunately, I have no knives and plates here," she said. "So I don't imagine us eating the cake you've so kindly brought.

"Don't worry. We could use the paper, and I have a knife with me," he answered with a devilish grin. Anybody would be already afraid. She wasn't. 'Why am I so sure he won't hurt me whatever the situation might be?"

And then she saw The Weapon. No, it wasn't an axe for an execution. Nor it was a toy. Her skin soon was covered with goose-bumps.

"This is called Harpy," he came closer. No! Not now! What are you going to do with it, knowing I'm alone and the door is closed? Was I so dumb I picked a day for anexecution myslef? And why am I so afraid?

"Will you give me the box?" he asked.

A sigh of relief. What a fool I am. He only wanted to cut the rope.

Watch, how his hand is used to holding this weapon. Why would a Doc need this thing?

"Ya know," he copied her Southern accent, 'the ole nice bud sometimes need a Harpy to protect 'imself."

She turned red. "Oh my, is is so noticeable?"

"What?" he smiled.

"My accent," she admitted. "They try to teach me, but it's still there."

"So what?" he said. "You're – how much – twelve years old? You can't achieve everything in no time. Now, young lady, here's your piece."

"Thank you," don't forget to be courteous, girl.

They sat down on the sofa. She ate and he stared. Soon she discovered she didn't feel nervous. Not at all. The cake was delicious and Clarice felt no pity there was no tea. Sometimes two good things spoil each other when mixing.

"So, let's continue," he said suddenly.

"Continue what?" Her mouth was busy with a little too big piece of cake.

"Continue the therapy, of course," he answered.

Now this is going to be hard for me to say...

"I'm sorry, Doctor..." she began.

"No, it is me, who should be sorry," Doctor stopped her. "You were feeling unwell and I interrupted your rest."

"Where's the logic?" stop it girl, you are no match for him. "I told them I am feeling unwell, but you came anyway."

"So it was you... And I was afraid they won't let me do my job just because I showed your headmaster out..."

"That's when we came to the point," be brave, girl, he is not your friend. "I'm in no need of therapy anymore. Just like I said I needed a physician. And a good rest. I don't need a psyche doctor."

"Tsk, tsk, Clarice..." she was suddenly overflown by a mixture of fear and pity. "Maybe I haven't told you, but I know, when somebody's lying. And I think that lying is unspeakably rude."

And what am I going to do with this? Tell him the truth?

"Of course," he nodded. "Was it some kind of pressure?"

"No, it was my decision. Is that enough?" you're no match for him, don't forget that. But your strong will is all you have. And you should be stronger this time. Stronger than him. He is not your friend, remember.

"No, it's not. Tell me, why have you made such a decision," and I can't be strong anymore. Not now. At least I've tried, Daddy, I've tried hard.

"I don't need charity. Are you satisfied?" he is staring at me with his incredible maroon orbs, quiet, head tilted... No sing of amusement on his face.

"I see," he replied at last. "But, you see, I usually don't work with children. And my services are well paid." He named an astronomic sum. "I can't see you are ready to pay such a sum for me."

"That's why I'm in no need of your services," she repeated. No, I'm not letting a single tear escape my eyes. He is not my friend.

"Let's say, I'm your friend. I came to hear you out, and you tell me everything..."

"No!" she cried. "You're not my friend!"

In a moment she found herself in his strong arms, his hand on her mouth, his voice soothingly whispering in her ear. "Shhh, you don't want them to hear us, do you? Promise not to scream and I'll let you down."

She gave a nod.

He let her down.

She stared at him and he wasn't willing to break their eye contact quickly either.

"I'll come tomorrow," he said. "I understand. But I can't take money from you either. Even if you were rich beyond reason, I couldn't take money from you. I could take your help. Would you help me?"

What could she possibly say to that? Of course, no!

"Yes."

"Then tomorrow? And let it be legal this time." He smiled. "I'm not old enough to forget hor to enter through the window, but I would certainly prefer a door."

She smiled. 'God, when did I last smile? When did I last laugh?'

"I'll take these with me," he said, taking the paper.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Never ask," he winked at her. "It spoils the surprise."

And so he left, and she stood near the window, watching him go away. He once turned and waved his hand to her. And she smiled again.


End file.
